Pages

Thursday, August 25, 2011

With a heavy heart, I want to let you know that we have lost our dear friend Nobius Black, editor and producer of Calliope Nerve. In his honor and memory, I will keep the content up here as long as possible because I think he would have wanted it to stay and for the words he loved to be held in the places he gave them.
Nobius Black, Matthew, was a giving man with a generous heart, who touched many of us in different ways. Many of us were part of his creative world, his writing and publishing world, and we know how important this work was to him. For those of us lucky enough to call him editor, collaborator, friend... here's hoping that we can take pause and remember what he gave us and honor it accordingly.
When I think back on what he had to say about so many of you and the work that he was proud to include here, I wish that I could share his thoughts now, to you each- personally. Please know that he had so much respect and admiration for your work, and truly believed in our community of independent presses.
Thank you for your support of Calliope Nerve.
Lynn Alexander

Friday, August 12, 2011

I am playing possum,indoctrinated by shareholders,and corporate elite,whose aim is to devour my soul.

I am alien to this body;this fleshy machine of wilderness.

I serve, as a cog in their bomb,which aims to destroy everything alive.

Humanity has adoptedthis system of orderand exploitation,which serves to maintainthe illusions it creates.

--Craig Shay lives on Long Island, NY and will be attending College of Old Westbury in the fall. He is currently working on his first poetry book titled Birth of Music. Samples of his published work are available at www.craigshay.wordpress.com.

--Craig Shay lives on Long Island, NY and will be attending College of Old Westbury in the fall. He is currently working on his first poetry book titled Birth of Music. Samples of his published work are available at www.craigshay.wordpress.com.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

We are incarcerated here,in comfortable cages,which lull us passivelyinto a state of acquiescence –

Why is it, that the circusdistracts us so?

Why is one's soul exchangedfor a handful of ash?

--Craig Shay lives on Long Island, NY and will be attending College of Old Westbury in the fall. He is currently working on his first poetry book titled Birth of Music. Samples of his published work are available at www.craigshay.wordpress.com.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Surprisingly, rainbows do not gush out of my assor any other orifice of my bodywhile I ride my unicorn Pony Girl to candy-coated HeavenI smell like cigarettes and ride the decayingpublic buses that usher out their very own shitty rainbow ofpollutants and I pop my lithium like candy corn so thatI don’t actually see unicorns strolling in the back alleys ofThe local AA Social Club

Maybe it will pour down rain and wash my sins awayand a rainbow will shine brightly in the sky whilea Goodyear Blimp cuts across it,magically giving my morning coffee a hint of pumpkin spiceand breaking my smoking habit for goodgood sport I am I’ll have started a fitness programfor preteens who believe in the Flying Spaghetti Monster

No, rainbows do not gush out of my assor any other orifice of my bodywhile I tiptoe through the tulipsor in my case the thorn bushesI prefer stargazing on LSDand miniature people collecting.

--Kevin Ridgeway is a writer currently based in Southern California in a shady bungalow with his girlfriend, one eyed cat and old books. He studied creative writing at Goddard College and Mt. San Antonio College, at the latter of which he won the 2011 Writer's Day Award for prose with special citations for his poetry. He has most recently been published in The Left Coast Review and Insomnis Veritas, and is anticipating two forthcoming publications in Breadcrumb Scabs and Larks Fiction Magazine.

Monday, August 8, 2011

for KathleenThe long dark tunnel ends in a pinprick of light. [double space]Deadly heliotrope pulls mein, too vast to slide through the aura calling out, [double space] My own Siren,sinking my heart with her dulcet tones & echoes of ache. [double space]I give in to the black endless ether drops on either side.

--Suzanne Grazyna is a stage actor and poet in California. Though she may actually be a robot.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

1.What doesn't kill us makes us stranger. Cracked hatched and eyelashless. Weneed aviation here. I am fearful of heights. [double space]He reaches across many streets, arm outstretched , to where I sleep. I amcarinate now. There are 3 fresh eggs in my nest. I didn't feel a thing. [double space]

3.It didn't make it.The fledgling fetus.Fresh from the shell.Pushed.Or fallen.Carrion for vultures. [double space]And I knew how it felt.And my swollen heart broke.And I saw myself.And I knew what I was.And I buried it in the holethe vultures left in my throat [double space]when they ate my song.

--Suzanne Grazyna is a stage actress and poet from California. Though she may actually be a robot.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Bitter pills. The bleating the bleeding the beading of sweat like dew. The ache to drip into the sweet abyss. Seal me shut, airtight, hermetic hermit in a hydro poison bath. Bathed in shivers. Awash in the tremors of desire of on-fire lust of needing to trust the hand willing to sew the lips shut. The prick of tiny unicorns with barbed wire treats that ping the meat in twitching legs. Needles like leaves dipped in sticky saliva lick my fleshy fat clean. Unhinged by twin horns by a devil's trick by a knight in nepenthe armour. Lancet on his white steed. He's found the Holy Grail. Swallow whole. Deep in the throat. Dissolve into bleating cells bleeding cells beating carnivorous bitter cells eating me complete.

--Suzanne Grazyna is a stage actress and poet in California. Though she may actually be a robot.

Friday, August 5, 2011

The imbalance of ancientness hangs heavy overhead-dangling steel verticals, whom distilled in the etherof new dead air, are wrapped by sterility:the night smog wound illuminated by neon billboardsthey cut through the alley night streets with precision,slicing the bulbous tumour from her roots

--Jack Little (b. 1987) is a British writer who currently lives in Mexico City. When not writing poetry he edits The Ofi Press magazine and manages the Mexican national cricket team. You can find out more information about both of these ventures at: www.theofipress.webs.com and www.mexicocricketassociation.com.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

At a secret whistle outside the bedroom windowturning to a keening beside the quilt.

From the time of grasping fingers to the time of lowering blankly,

brows drawn black and grass departing you from all sounds

of tender and hardened loved ones.

From the anger at your father.

From the annoyance at yourself, the slamming of an object, the considerationof cutting edges

peeling forth the red,like a signal,an ecstatic meeting–tears beating at the lightlike the pulse of the soul–ora rending,a covering or an opening,a faultless disclosure.

--Natalie Caulfield lives in Connecticut with her archaic typewriter and a river creeping up her back yard. Her work has been published at Ink Sweat & Tears webzine and is forthcoming in Penny Ante Feud.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

I felt the day comeand settle back inlike a gore-full suitcase.Heavy,landing on my throatlike the careless stepof a stranger in a stampede:here are my guts,quivering with rubberand electric wire;my eyesstaring fleshless,record expiredas old prescriptions.Not pretty brown, just starkas a child's horror storyfrom the dark of my head.Hardened hands makinga last snatch at fading thought.And when they tell youit doesn't mattersay it backloudlike a magnifying glass.Like the painting of one.Out back in the shadedhollow by my houseit is blowsy andI feel my own deathnudge gracefully at my skin withpromises of what may be.Like a cat, urging on bird calls.Forget wet flesh,I am lemon cakeand a slow breath;tea with a vanilla cloudof oleander.A pausing swell.Sleep attractive as the promise of breakfastand marital love:the idea of youall over me,the idea of meall over.

--Natalie Caulfield lives in Connecticut with her archaic typewriter and a river creeping up her back yard. Her work has been published at Ink Sweat & Tears webzine and is forthcoming in Penny Ante Feud.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Trying to get that adrenalinePumping; in stride with the beatOf a drummer that marches withinBut refuses to quicken on her feet

And sinks slowly like mellifluous quicksandStubbornly; into a hollow abyssNo extrication by Merlin’s magic wandOr even Prince Charming’s kiss

Not every damsel needs a saviorDistressing; concerned by an unknown plightThat reeks of a sacrilegious flavorAnd burns the eyes of foresight

And though this heroine may indeed be ravingShe, in the end, must do the saving

--Adina Rosenthal's poetry has recently appeared at The Camel Saloon, vox poetica, Yes, Poetry, and Heavy Hands Ink. Her short story "Succubus-in-Law", will appear in Gus Ginsburg's forthcoming anthology Bride of the Golem. Her thoughts can be found at adinacate.blogspot.com.

Monday, August 1, 2011

By cleansing their wounds with pensive soapTo improve their hopeless aestheticRidding them the label patheticDisappointments; removing the rope

That harnesses them to failureDoomed to repeat past mistakesInstead, accepting an evanescent cureAllowing them to eat their cakeAnd have it to; they will acquire a heart pureTo finally rise proud and remain awake

--Adina Rosenthal's poetry has recently appeared at The Camel Saloon, vox poetica, Yes, Poetry, and Heavy Hands Ink. Her short story "Succubus-in-Law", will appear in Gus Ginsburg's forthcoming anthology Bride of the Golem. Her thoughts can be found at adinacate.blogspot.com.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

In order to play lyricistLike a game of chessYou need a strategy thatBleeds memories andPurges the ethereal soulOf its demons, fears, andHesitations as they hamperEven the best of exorcists

And make sure to exorciseThrough poetic exercise thatRings out the soul in melodiousCacophony and chimes a triangleOf hope, understanding, andRaw reflection; a dance with lasciviousPassion and a sprintwith modestRuminationTo lift theWeights off your backAnd build the muscleOf your soul

For even an exorcism most mellifluousRequires an introspection, most meticulous

--Adina Rosenthal's poetry has recently appeared at The Camel Saloon, vox poetica, Yes, Poetry, and Heavy Hands Ink. Her short story "Succubus-in-Law", will appear in Gus Ginsburg's forthcoming anthology Bride of the Golem. Her thoughts can be found at adinacate.blogspot.com.

--Felino A. Soriano (b. 1974) is a case manager and advocate for adults with developmental and physical disabilities. In 2010, he was chosen for the Gertrude Stein "rose" prize for creativity in poetry from Wilderness House Literary Review. Philosophical studies collocated with his connection to various idioms of jazz explains motivation for poetic occurrences. For information, including his 44 print and electronic collections of poetry, over 2,700 published poems, interviews, and editorships, please visit his website: www.felinoasoriano.info.

--Felino A. Soriano (b. 1974) is a case manager and advocate for adults with developmental and physical disabilities. In 2010, he was chosen for the Gertrude Stein "rose" prize for creativity in poetry from Wilderness House Literary Review. Philosophical studies collocated with his connection to various idioms of jazz explains motivation for poetic occurrences. For information, including his 44 print and electronic collections of poetry, over 2,700 published poems, interviews, and editorships, please visit his website: www.felinoasoriano.info.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Trust manifest
an articulated
fulcrum of verb and
delineated
delirium. As
home and path re-
create persona
of
blatant absence
walk of
alphabetic
maze
ends as antiquated
fences broken by
weighted deliberations.

--Felino A. Soriano (b. 1974) is a case manager and advocate for adults with developmental and physical disabilities. In 2010, he was chosen for the Gertrude Stein "rose" prize for creativity in poetry from Wilderness House Literary Review. Philosophical studies collocated with his connection to various idioms of jazz explains motivation for poetic occurrences. For information, including his 44 print and electronic collections of poetry, over 2,700 published poems, interviews, and editorships, please visit his website: www.felinoasoriano.info.

--Felino A. Soriano (b. 1974) is a case manager and advocate for adults with developmental and physical disabilities. In 2010, he was chosen for the Gertrude Stein "rose" prize for creativity in poetry from Wilderness House Literary Review. Philosophical studies collocated with his connection to various idioms of jazz explains motivation for poetic occurrences. For information, including his 44 print and electronic collections of poetry, over 2,700 published poems, interviews, and editorships, please visit his website: www.felinoasoriano.info.

--Felino A. Soriano (b. 1974) is a case manager and advocate for adults with developmental and physical disabilities. In 2010, he was chosen for the Gertrude Stein "rose" prize for creativity in poetry from Wilderness House Literary Review. Philosophical studies collocated with his connection to various idioms of jazz explains motivation for poetic occurrences. For information, including his 44 print and electronic collections of poetry, over 2,700 published poems, interviews, and editorships, please visit his website: www.felinoasoriano.info.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

after finishing upsome work in the gardenthe serial killerinserts his handsbelow the sink headto wash off the dirt

-Maxwell Baumbach is a manchild from Elmhurst, IL. He has authored the chapbooks "Suburban Rhythm" (Scars Publications, September 2010) and "You're Welcome" (Alternating Current, March 2011). His first full length collection, "At Age Twenty," is slated for a January 2012 release from unbound CONTENT. In his spare time, Maxwell enjoys watching unhealthy amounts of Sports Center and sleeping.

Friday, July 22, 2011

I saw a taxi that had your nameon its driver side doorand I couldn't help but thinkthat if it violently collidedwith my vehicle and I diedin a fiery blaze that there isa good chancethat it would probablybe symbolicsomehow

--Maxwell Baumbach is a manchild from Elmhurst, IL. He has authored the chapbooks "Suburban Rhythm" (Scars Publications, September 2010) and "You're Welcome" (Alternating Current, March 2011). His first full length collection, "At Age Twenty," is slated for a January 2012 release from unbound CONTENT. In his spare time, Maxwell enjoys watching unhealthy amounts of Sports Center and sleeping.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Now hear this, new neighbor! John and Linda Somerset have decided to combat urban alienation by hosting an open house for the whole cul-de-sac! We’ll be all moved in by Friday; come at six pm. The buffet menu is antipasto, chicken Tetrazzini, cioppino and black-bottom pumpkin pie. Kids and critters are welcome, but remember only the kids are welcome to our pool!

The note was put in the mailboxes of the other six houses in the cul-de-sac. Two of the houses were foreclosures, so long deserted that their “For Sale” signs had been stolen. The third house was occupied by a shift worker with a time conflict. The fourth house was occupied by a devout family who never fraternized outside their own church. The fifth house was occupied by a couple with dander allergies, who had to avoid animals. The sixth house was occupied by a registered sex offender who had to avoid children.

But the open house was not unattended. The city collected mail and circulars from deserted homes, and had no record of a permit for the Somerset pool. Therefore, at six exactly, a process server arrived with a court summons.

--Robert Laughlin lives in Chico, California. Two of his short stories are Million Writers Award Notable Stories, and his novel, Vow of Silence, was favorably reviewed by Publishers Weekly. His website is at www.pw.org/content/robert_laughlin.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Come find us tucked within your concrete scapes,Not flaunting our wares in wild merriment.Nowadays, we take on different shapesWhen we taunt and tease and tempt and torment.We do not believe we are dangerousDespite our customers' bleak track record,And doubtless you have been warned about us,Labelled more trouble than you can afford.It is never our intent for your healthTo suffer though, for where would we be then?We are nothing without you and your wealth,This goblin market in the hearts of men,And from deep within each the ancient cryStill resounds loud and clear, 'Come buy, come buy!'

--Ian Chung is Fiction Editor at The Cadaverine. His work has appeared in Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Foundling Review, TheCadaverine and Poetry Quarterly, among others. He was nominated by Camroc Press Review for Sundress Publications’ 2010 Best of the Net anthology. Currently, he reviews for The Cadaverine and Sabotage. Since October 2010, he also edits Eunoia Review, an online literary journal.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Making my way to youacross the room, throbbingmusic pulsing, thumpingin time to the beat ofhearts all around, I mightlinger awhile and speaka casual word topersons unknown to you,insignificant folknot worthy of your fearsand jealousies becausethere is one thing we share:a meeting of the eyesperhaps, or even justa chance fleeting glanceis enough to be sure.

--Ian Chung is Fiction Editor at The Cadaverine. His work has appeared in Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Foundling Review, TheCadaverine and Poetry Quarterly, among others. He was nominated by Camroc Press Review for Sundress Publications’ 2010 Best of the Net anthology. Currently, he reviews for The Cadaverine and Sabotage. Since October 2010, he also edits Eunoia Review, an online literary journal.

Monday, July 18, 2011

I love you like an addict needs a highTo stay afloat, treading water untilThe next wave of narcotic numbness breaksUpon my brain-sands and washes awayThe dank detritus that accumulatesOnly in your absence. Can you taste me?For I taste the loss of you, like a bladeCutting lines on the table, on my tongue.The tang of blood no longer bothers me,Shed in brokenness but to heal us whole.

--Ian Chung is Fiction Editor at The Cadaverine. His work has appeared in Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Foundling Review, TheCadaverine and Poetry Quarterly, among others. He was nominated by Camroc Press Review for Sundress Publications’ 2010 Best of the Net anthology. Currently, he reviews for The Cadaverine and Sabotage. Since October 2010, he also edits Eunoia Review, an online literary journal.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

the scent of mangois fixed in the memoriesof an old peopleunder an alien skytrying to build a new life

the scepter of mangroveis fixed in the memsahibsof an old pepperunder an alignment skydivertrying to build a new lifeboat

the sceptre of man-houris fixed in the menagesof an old peppermintunder an allegation skylighttrying to build a new lifeline

the schema of maniais fixed in the mendsof an old percentageunder an allegory skyscrapertrying to build a new lifespan

the scheme of maniacis fixed in the menialsof an old perceptionunder an allergy slabtrying to build a new lifestyle

the schemer of manic-depressiveis fixed in the mentalitiesof an old perchunder an alley slackertrying to build a new lifetime

the schism of manicureis fixed in the mentionsof an old percolateunder an alleyway slagtrying to build a new lift

the scholarship of manifestationis fixed in the mercenariesof an old peregrinationunder an allocation slandertrying to build a new light

the schoolboy of manipulatoris fixed in the merciesof an old perfectunder an allowance slaptrying to build a new lighthouse

the schoolgirl of manneris fixed in the mergersof an old perforationunder an all-rounder slattrying to build a new lightning

--Ian Chung is Fiction Editor at The Cadaverine. His work has appeared in Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Foundling Review, TheCadaverine and Poetry Quarterly, among others. He was nominated by Camroc Press Review for Sundress Publications’ 2010 Best of the Net anthology. Currently, he reviews for The Cadaverine and Sabotage. Since October 2010, he also edits Eunoia Review, an online literary journal.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

By now you must admitLove is an arranging.We tidy the atticsOf our respective livesAnd present them, proudly,As a fait accompli,Trusting now everythingMust be pleasing, wholesome,Fit for our consumption.And have we not labouredTo learn our lines and playThe parts we were assigned?There is artistry here,In the way we choose wordsTo say or not to say.Language will protect usFrom the things we cannotBring ourselves to confront.Love is our dialogue:I won’t tell, if you won’t.

--Ian Chung is Fiction Editor at The Cadaverine. His work has appeared in Quarterly Literary Review Singapore, Foundling Review, The Cadaverine and Poetry Quarterly, among others. He was nominated by Camroc Press Review for Sundress Publications’ 2010 Best of the Net anthology. Currently, he reviews for The Cadaverine and Sabotage. Since October 2010, he also edits Eunoia Review, an online literary journal.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Don’t shuttershock light back into quarks.Don’t have staring contests with the man on the moonreducing him to a high-school nerd of an asteroidfumbling all over undiscovered space and skyuntil he crashes into adolescent galaxieswith all the debonair of a prepubescent black hole.

Don’t challenge the stars to cross their eyes when they don’t have any.The next time you want to make a wish, they’ll organize a meteor uprising as a boycott against falling for you.

Don’t break men in halfwhen they are made of millions of atomsand half-livesand so halfis, in all logical reality, a half-hearted copout.

This universe is in love with disorder,so why break when you can be a ball-buster?

Fall together.Come worldly as they come.

When the world tries to stop you in your tracks,rewind yourself forward.Finish in the past tense.Love like you were dying.Live as if stopclocks waited on your every gasp and heave to declare mutiny from mortality.

There are formulas for forever hiding in your fingertips.Swallow your shortcomings.Act like you know.

--Jennifer-Leigh Oprihory (a.k.a. Phoenix) is a poet, scientist, editor, activist, life-lover, caffeine-junkie, and connoisseur of all things carpe diem and light. Editor-in-Chief of the online poetry journals Borderline and Anatomy & Etymology, she wants to change your world, one word at a time. Her poetry has appeared in journals including Four and Twenty, Troubadour 21, The Legendary, and Spoken War. For more info, visit http://phoenixpoet.info.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Mondrian life in Maple leavesStrewn at the entrance ofWal-Mart, written history inThe aisles and the sand aroundA dying man like police tapeUnder my pillow, "Dream no evil."Low-slung bell bottom jeansWith a holster at your hip,Fire no shots, I've thrownMy condoms to the ground!I made you into art and allI got was one more drunkPussy at four A.M. BuyPesticide, meet me at McDonald's,Leave the back door unlockedMom will be home soon

--Charles Alexander Themar lives in Denton, TX and enjoys malt liquor and soap operas. He will trade a knight for a bishop and hasn't been to the dentist in years, but don't tell anyone that.